Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognisable characters or themes featured in this story.

It began with a challenge.

Left hook, duck, wings clench, extension, right palm strike. Phoebiel had repeated the series of movements enough that she danced fluently without thought, her mind drifting as her limbs flowed around one another, the downy white wings curling around her and slashing at the air in a violent caress. She had to be perfect. Remiel was expecting nothing less of her, and Father forbid she let down her seasoned mentor. He had left her with the objective to work on her posture until he returned: though he knew she had grasped it already with ease, he could hardly leave his apprentice taskless while he met to discuss the new training routine for his garrison with Michael - the one that Phoebiel really shouldn't know about...

Insanely jealous, actually, was how Phoebiel felt whenever Remiel was pulled off to meet the Archangels- he was millenia older than her of course, and had known and fought with them since before she existed, but given a chance to prove herself to them she knew that she could earn their respect. Raphael had shaken her hand once, when she did especially well on a training exercise he had set up, and it had been the highlight of her existence. Idolisation didn't even breach the skin on her adoration for her Father's four eldest. They were everything she ever wanted to be, and if she could count even a fraction of their achievements... Duck.

"You aren't paying attention." Remiel chastised, grinning, despite that she had narrowly avoided his grapple.

"You almost took me by surprise." She returned, turning serenely to face him. Shaking his head, with a patronising smile, Remiel began the lecture she knew all too well.

"Almost is too close." His right wing twitched, giving away the feint, and Phoebiel contorted herself into the space it had just occupied, jabbing at his knee as she did so. "Better. Focus. The key is focus." The fluttering of wings behind her that were not Remiel's tipped her off; she spun and whipped out a wing directly into the throat of her new assailant, who doubled over immediately, obscured.

"Focus, definitely. But you can't expect me to ignore the environment." Sometimes she had the patience to let her mentor think he still had something to teach her about hand-to-hand combat- mostly, she didn't. The concerning mixture of amusement and anxiety on his face though was far from what she had expected. "What is it?" Remiel glanced over her shoulder pointedly.

"You ought to show your mentor more respect- he has done well by your training at the very least." The unamused, gravelly tones of the Archangel Raphael sent a wave of embarrassment and awe washing over her, in equal measures. Spluttering to apologize, suddenly aware that she had all but assaulted him, Phoebiel grimaced and stumbled over her words only to be silenced by his raised palm. "You are formidable in combat- might I test the extent of this capability?"

Both excited and fearful of the challenge, she went to graciously accept. However, upon her attempt, Raphael turned to her mentor, ignoring her entirely and burning her pride with his arrogance. Archangel or not, Phoebiel knew that she could at least hold her own- she had no mind for tactics, nor a prophetic streak, nor even a talent for flying being the slowest of all her garrison- but she had to have something to pride herself on. Combat was all she had.

"Go ahead, Raphael. She'll appreciate the challenge, and you might well take her ego down a notch while you're at it." Remiel chuckled. Hypocrite, thought his apprentice. "Phoebiel?"

"I accept your challenge." She had no time for prettied up words, niceties. She was about to become the new wall decoration- not that there were any walls in the arena. Just sand, in every direction.

Fluid, she thought as the Archangel circled her, becoming immensely more threatening. Flow like a river and drown him like the ocean. His first move was a flurry of wings that Phoebiel couldn't have kept up with in her wildest ambitions, but she stayed out of his way, positioning herself such that as the wings lowered on Raphael's back, her own struck him directly on either side of his waist, a move that would easily have winded a lesser creature. The response was a swift lash of his fist narrowly dodged and a kick into her stomach, with destabilised her footing. She needed to find her center, weaving her way around, probing for weaknesses. When his wing grazed he cheek and she realised she hadn't even started to fatigue him, a shallow panic gripped her. Raphael swung inwards, in perfect stance to topple her unsteady balance and finish her.

She wasn't entirely sure what she had done when her opponent gripped his head with fervor, a ringing in both their ears that debilitated him, but she reacted swiftly. She moved in, slamming her shoulder into his slumped posture and pinning his wings to the sand with her own the moment he hit the floor. The cloud of sand that had risen around them settled lazily, as if it knew how much those few seconds of breath were worth to Phoebiel.

The arena was still; time itself seemed to stagnate as Phoebiel removed her self from the stunned Archangel at her mercy. A slow clap permeated the tension; drawing all eyes to a audience no one had yet noticed. Gabriel's golden wings were unmistakable, the mischievous glint in his eye infamous amongst... essentially all of heaven's residents. Raphael gathered his scraps of dignity almost tangibly, glaring long and hard at his brother before turning on Phoebiel, eyes spitting embers.

"I am... disappointed. I had expected a fair fight at least, from an apprentice of Remiel. I had a great deal of respect for your abilities; clearly you don't, or you should not have diminished them by cheating." He seethed. "The consequences..."

"There was no cheating, brother. Go lick your wounded pride somewhere else." Gabriel chuckled. Phoebiel whipped around to him in shock. Her mind was racing, helplessness and shame filling her entirely. She hadn't meant to cheat. She hadn't done anything outside of simple brawling rules... "Well, you didn't, did you? Don't look so devastated! Just because he's such a sore loser."

Remiel seemed to snap out a stupor suddenly, his face practically radiating disappointment. She had let him down, and badly. A senior warrior such as himself took on an apprentice rarely, but he had seen Phoebiel's potential; for her to cheat in a brawl was the highest insult. He would be disgraced. His judgement questioned. He had taught her better. "Raphael, I take full responsibility for her actions. She did not know what she was doing. I should not have allowed her to compete in the first place."

"Responsibility for what, exactly?" Gabriel shot in, bemused.

"She used powers!" Raphael retorted.

"Aside from the fact that she blatantly didn't, you sound like a fledgeling. You should go before you embarrass yourself more, elder brother." Gabriel's tone was taunting, but his eyes hard. Raphael met his glare, the siblings watched partially in confusion by the two younger angels on the sidelines. Wings outstretched Raphael took off, without so much as a further glare to the other parties, causing Phoebiel to release a hitched sigh she didn't know she was holding back. Remiel turned to her.

"What did you do?" His tone was simmering, his eyes dangerous. There was shame in his voice that manifested as anger. The wrath of her mentor was more than Phoebiel thought she could take; she was a good soldier, always followed orders, always followed the unspoken code of honour amongst warriors, and she would never, ever, resort to underhanded tactics and backstabbing. It was not in her.

"I didn't cheat." She stated with far more confidence than she felt. Gabriel's eye's flickered between her and her mentor.

"I don't believe you." Remiel replied.

"I'm sorry, then." Phoebiel barely whispered, feeling utterly defeated.

"So you did cheat?"

"No. I'm sorry that I don't have your trust. I thought I might have earned it in all this time. My mistake." Phoebiel knelt on one knee, awaiting her mentor's judgement. Dismissal was inevitable. Her training wasted. Gabriel smiled at her honesty, and courage facing the potential consequences of it. He chose his words carefully.

"Remiel, were I in your position, I might look kindly upon an honourable warrior whose only crime was being too skilled. In fact, it would become obvious to me that I had no more to teach them."

Remiel was shocked into silence. Passive as it was, Gabriel's statement had been clear in it's intent and meaning; it was a direct order, relayed indirectly. The simmering fury behind his eyes cooled and he inhaled deeply, feeling his pride recede and logic replace it. Should he dismiss Phoebiel as dishonourable, and therefore unfit for his training, he would earn the wrath of Gabriel- certainly not something to be taken lightly. But should he dismiss her as having completed her training, he would be admitting her as his equal. He would be required to step down as the leader of the garrison and give her the role, or duel her to prove himself superior; requiring him to take her back as an apprentice with more to learn. Either way, Gabriel had forced him into an embarrassing situation. Remiel steeled himself to reply.

"Sir, you are, of course, right. There is nothing left for me to teach Phoebiel, yet I believe she yet has potential left. I would ask you take her on as your own apprentice, so that she might fully develop her skills." Remiel was taking a risk; if it paid off, his position was secured and Phoebiel was off his hands. If not... He would lose his command. Phoebiel could defeat him in combat without flinching, but she could not lead a garrison. She was a soldier. She didn't have it in her to lead.

Gabriel smirked. Remiel had recovered the situation better than he might have hoped, but Gabriel wasn't under the pressure he was. He could spare the time and resources to better understand the innate power he had glimpsed from Phoebiel, and Remiel had delivered her right into his hands. Not that Gabriel would let him know that.

"If that is her wish also, Phoebiel is welcome under my tutelage." He shot her a grin, and Phoebiel felt temporarily uneasy; she wondered what she was about to get herself into. She cast her eyes to Remiel, who looked uncertain. She knew exactly why he'd turned her over, and knew that he wouldn't deny it to her if she called him out on it. But for the sake of millenia of mentoring and new opportunity she wouldn't.

"It is my wish, Sir. I'd be honoured to be your apprentice."

Gabriel grinned.

Gabriel had been eager to start questioning his new apprentice on her skills. She had shown him every stance, every strike, every technique he asked after with such perfection and fluidity he couldn't help but compare them to Michael's. Remiel had been right; there was still infinite potential in her, for combat at least. It became quickly apparent to Gabriel, however, that Remiel had not turned her over in order to secure his position, but to protect his garrison. Phoebiel followed his every order to the word, speaking her mind when she felt she had to, but she had no presence, no charisma and certainly no imagination. It was small wonder Remiel didn't want her leading a whole garrison.

There was certain training from which she was restricted- as was her old mentor, so she would never have learned it anyway. Techniques which Raphael, Michael, Lucifer and he had improvised and attuned against one another, four of the most powerful beings in the universe devising the most exclusive martial tactics. The sort of tactics Raphael ought not resort to when fighting an angel who, compared to him, might as well be a fledgling. It was why he had defended Phoebiel from his brothers fury. Raphael dare accuse her of cheating? Gabriel was only glad he was there to witness his hypocrisy. Gabriel would take Phoebiel before his elder brothers, once he had figured out exactly what she had done to Raphael.

Because, intentional or not, she had released something powerful, and Raphael knew it.

"Fight me." Gabriel interrupted her demonstration of a backhanded blade sequence. Phoebiel flinched visibly away from him, doubt falling across her face as the onset of night.

"Sir?" She questioned, warily.

"You aren't scared?" He laughed, taken aback, "After the much needed dose of humiliation you served my brother?"

Phoebiel cringed. She was scared, definitely, but not of the fight. It was herself that she was afraid of. She was afraid that whatever she had caused when Raphael came at her would return. Expressing her fear to Gabriel somehow felt like the most daunting task she'd ever faced.

"I don't want what happened when I fought your br... Raphael," she recovered. "To happen again."

Gabriel smiled, a hint of irony behind the comfort it offered. "I do want it to happen again. I want to teach you to control it."

"Why? Whatever it was... it was unnatural. Wrong. I let down my mentor and humiliated an Archangel and myself." Phoebiel let it out before she had the chance to think of what she was saying, and couldn't take it back.

"You shouldn't worry about Raphael. He has a great deal of pride and a tendency to over-react. And Remiel was holding you back- don't start doing that to yourself now he can't anymore. Just because something is different, it isn't necessarily wrong."

Phoebiel reconsidered her entire existence in that moment. She discovered that she had always been another one of Daddy's little soldiers, and considered the possibility that maybe she could be more than that. She placed the blade she had been practicing with behind her, to the left, and took a defensive stance, spreading her wings in a gesture of challenge.

"Good girl!" Gabriel smirked, taking tentative strides to circle her. She responded, moving around, her footwork maintaining a strong balance from all angles. Both feigned, left and right, testing one another's reflexes. Gabriel ducked in, sweeping around her and slicing at her Achilles's heel with his wing. She sent and elbow crashing into his ribs, but Gabriel was attacking swiftly, making contact every time, but never causing an actual injury. He wore her down, blow after blow, until she left her right side undefended for a split second. As Gabriel struck, instead of making painful contact, his grace seemed to fly into his throat, choking him, and white noise filled his ears. Phoebiel stood back instead of moving in as she had done to Raphael, observing. She was breathing heavily, her chest feeling like it was collapsing into itself, her grace attempting to consume her whole form.

"Gabriel?" She ventured.

He groaned as he lifted himself to standing. "Yes?"

"Are you... alright?" Honestly, she wanted to know every detail of how her... ability, had made him feel.

"I will be."

They stared at one another for a second, Gabriel looking for once very sincere and interested in her. Then he laughed; not the amused chuckle she had heard before, but a full on, from-the-gut laugh.

"That was unbelievable... Like you ripped a part of my own grace out and strangled me with it... What did you feel?" He stared at her, disbelieving, laughing eyes inviting a response.

"Like I was collapsing under my own weight, honestly. Like I was trying to pull something that wouldn't move, from all directions..."

"My brothers need to see this," Gabriel drew in a deep breath. "Want to meet Mikey and Lucy?"

Holding back a chuckle, which would have been highly disrespectful, Phoebiel considered, and the full weight of what that would mean made her grace clench as it had done only moments ago, a crippling fear slithering through her.

"I'm not... They won't want me to... Fight them?" She breathed, hardly daring to glance up at her new mentor in case he replied with the affirmative.

Gabriel wouldn't lie to her. "Probably, yes." He conceded, "But it won't have to be now, or even anytime particularly soon. And aren't you the least bit curious as to where this gift came from, or why you have it? To what end..." Gabriel rambled on, but his new protege missed almost all of it. He had called what she did a gift... was that it? How could he know, without knowing it's full capabilities, and it's purpose? No, Phoebiel knew it was far too newly discovered to decide whether it would prove a gift or a burden.

"You're right. I want to know. When can I meet your brothers?"

Gabriel grasped her wrist. "Now!" He took off, practically dragging his apprentice behind him, a lazy smile finding it's way across his face.

Michael and Lucifer were deep in conversation when Gabriel arrived with Heaven's newest curiosity. They looked up simultaneously, saw him coming, then turned back to one another and continued their debate. Phoebiel was fascinated at the sight of them; Gabriel and Raphael she had not noticed at their initial appearance, but the awe and insignificance she'd felt after she knew them more than made up for it. It was impossible to imagine not noticing either of the creatures before her. Their presences filled the room so strongly she could hardly breath; and to look at them! They were exquisite. She had heard tales of Lucifer's beauty- as had every angel in Heaven- but he surpassed any possible standard of expectation. Michael seemed to be dwarfed and engulfed by the glow of his brother, and Phoebiel forgot momentarily where, when and who she was, so overwhelmed was she by the raw power radiating from a room filled with three of the four original creations of her father.

Lucifer acknowledged them first, turning to his little brother and the angel he was unfamiliar with. He cast his gaze over them with an easy smile, greeting them. "Brother, what brings you here? With company too!" He set his smile on Phoebiel. "I don't believe we've met, and so I'm sure you have me at a disadvantage..."

Gabriel chuckled at the irony. "You have no idea, Lucy." Laughing off his nickname, Lucifer furrowed his brow inquisitively. Gabriel continued. "Brothers, this young, naive and arrogant apprentice of mine is Phoebiel. She seems to believe that you would be ample challenge to test her mettle."

Phoebiel was horrified, more so when both elder Archangels turned to look at her. Lucifer looked ever patient, his eyes lit with amusement, but it was Michael's stony look of disapproval that twisted her stomach.

"No she does not!" She exclaimed, to receive a warning glare from Gabriel this time. "Maybe, she... does? I mean I..." The archangels all wore identical expressions at this point; confusion, frustration and amusement. Even Lucifer, who had seemed so charming, was enjoying watching her squirm, she knew.

Gabriel decided that if Phoebiel spoke again she'd ruin his whole plan, so took over. "Which one of you would like to test her first? Mikey?" Michael was less amused by the use of his unceremonious nickname. He stepped forward to meet the challenge with no doubt he could finish Phoebiel off before she had even started.

As it was, she fended off a few of his initial blows, which impressed him enough that Michael resolved not to hurt the stupid girl, too much. As he moved in with a finisher towards her stomach, Phoebiel felt the by-now familiar tugging on her Grace. More potent than ever before, she struggled to stay standing, drawing in as much air as she could, as Michael's hands flew to his head in the same gesture his brothers had made before. The pain in her chest becoming unbearable and her vision swimming, she called out for Gabriel, who was at her side instantly, soothing her as best he could.

It took her less time to recover than Michael, who's form remained on his knees for the moment, but she was more afraid than ever. "That was cruel," she whimpered to Gabriel. "You said I wouldn't have to fight now."

"I'm sorry." He returned, sounding sincere, which Phoebiel realised was uncommon for him. As her vision returned and clarified, she saw the humiliation on Michael's face, and pain too, for he still would not stand. Lucifer was staring at her with unhidden curiosity and what might have been respect. He turned to Gabriel, sensing that his apprentice wasn't fit to answer his questions. "Care to explain, brother?"

"I hadn't expected such a violent reaction this time... Phoebiel seems to have a gift for taking down Archangels."

Michael exhaled through his nose, standing up. "And you learned of this how, exactly?" He asked.

"Raphael felt like being a coward this morning, and challenged her. She was Remiel's apprentice but I... convinced him to let me take her on."

Lucifer's eyes were set on her, the curiosity burning in them. "And you can do this at will?"

"No!" Phoebiel shot in, protesting her innocence. The very idea that she wanted to inflict pain on her superiors, that she wanted to cheat was insulting.

Gabriel had other ideas. "Not yet." Michael nodded at him. Something in her grace was triggering a reaction in their's, which made her a very real threat. He had to wonder; was it unique to her? Were there other angels capable of the same amount of damage that she was? And why? What possible reason could his Father have had to create an angel more powerful than His eldest? They would have to find out, and see what else she was capable of too.

"Phoebiel, thank you. I'm sure you know how unique your... ability is." He paused, "I would like to help you refine it, and learn more of it's source." Registering her reluctance and the caution that guarded in her eyes, Michael added swiftly, "Not now, of course. In due time."

"I think you're forgetting, brother, who's apprentice she is," Gabriel interjected, irritation tinting his carefree tone.

"And her mentor owns her now, does he?" Lucifer questioned innocently, supporting Michael's request. "Ought we not perhaps ask the girl?"

Phoebiel was not used to the sort of attention she was receiving since her duel with Raphael, her comfortable routine having been utterly annihilated. Being asked what she wanted was nigh unheard of, and daunting to say the least. The only time she could recall being given a choice before that fateful battle was when Remiel offered to mentor her, and that had been an easy decision; he was a seasoned warrior, in a high position, with a lot to teach her. It made her almost nostalgic, recalling the years of stern but honest guidance and a wave of guilt threatened to drown her as she thought of how wasted their goodbye was.

"I would like to learn. I don't want to risk ever losing control, and I don't want to fear myself." She looked to her superiors, linking eyes with Michael.

"Teach me."

Time passed, as it was wont to do. Phoebiel was almost exclusively exhausted; there rarely came a time when she felt anything but tired. She didn't know what she had expected training with Archangels to be like, but it was more brutal than she could ever have imagined; they fought creatively, on impulse, using styles and techniques that were entirely new to her. She was learning fast, but her Grace came from every beating feeling smaller and more shredded than ever before. Michael's reactions seemed the worst, and if the pain she felt crippled her, she didn't want to think of what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of her ability. Lucifer's reaction was less potent, and had little enough of an effect on her that the duel could continue. It was in this way that they gleaned their first knowledge of the workings of Phoebiel's Grace.

As she circled Lucifer, awaiting his recovery and taking advantage of the seconds breathing space she had, the ringing in her ears continued until she pushed it from her mind with a resounding infliction of will. Her opponent spun in, throwing her off balance with a low kick that carried his weight around to topple her over. She jumped back, but he was ready and moved to grapple her; until, for the second time, the back of his eyes exploded with colours and white noise, halting him where he stood. Michael, observing, was the first to make a connection.

"Stop." The two fighting stepped back from one another, Lucifer blinking quickly but seeming otherwise unharmed. "It's defensive. It triggers at a crucial strike..." Phoebiel still looked at her elder in confusion, but her opponent seemed to have caught on. "Essentially, we can't harm you."

As much as she wanted to protest that she felt like her insides were tearing themselves apart every time her 'defense mechanism' kicked in, Michael's theory was sound. If she was reacting, subconsciously, could she learn to control it? It seemed unlikely, but were it possible, she had the best teachers any angel could ask for. Lucifer snapped her out of her reverie, addressing his brother.

"You should find Gabriel, brother. I'm sure he'd be interested to know that we're on our way to understanding his apprentice a little better." He sniggered. Michael nodded affirmation and took off, leaving Phoebiel alone with Lucifer for the first time. He turned to her, when his brother was long gone, concern showing in the creases by his eyes. "Why do you agree to this?" He challenged.

Taken aback, Phoebiel couldn't fathom his meaning. "Sir?" She inquired, prompting a chuckle from him.

"I've a name for a reason, Phoebiel." He sighed, his eyes seeing through her. "We wear you down. It hurts you more every time you fight us and you keep it up. Why?"

"I'm stubborn, I suppose. I said I wanted to learn, and I do. A little pain isn't too high a price to pay for control."

"Phoebiel, Father would never have given you such a gift to cause you pain. That is not his way- you must learn in your own time."

"You think so, Sir..." She coughed to hide her slip. "Lucifer?"

"Yes. I don't suppose that will change your mind, though." The easy smile she had come to associate with him was back, drawing honesty from her relatively painlessly; not that she could lie to her superiors anyway.

"What else would I do?"

"What you were supposed to do, before we got in the way."

"Go back to Remiel? I couldn't."

"No!" He looked appalled at the mere suggestion. She was easily powerful enough to take on her own students, but she couldn't see past her superiors. "Have your own command."

Phoebiel's breath hitched in her throat. The same feeling that had threatened to drown her whenever Remiel had tried to teach her the responsibilities of a leader rose within her. She knew, and eventually her mentor had come to know, that she couldn't handle an authoritative position; she needed the chain of command; she needed someone to look to for guidance. Without orders she was helpless, useless, there was no point to her. The thought of providing her own direction brought a panic welling into her chest, and there seemed no room left in her to think of a coherent reply.

"I don't... I couldn't... Not a..." Phoebiel's weak attempt was cut off, most fortunately in her opinion, by the fluttering of wings announcing Michael's return with Gabriel. They both greeted her with a smile, Gabriel's the warmer by far.

"We have progress?" He pressed, sounding totally at ease. Glad for the distraction, Phoebiel returned his smile.

With a grateful glance to Michael, she answered, "A little, if you can call it that. It's something at least."

Lucifer, the gentle concern she had seen in him not quite dissipated, turned to her. "Progress is going to be slow, Phoebiel. You will have to endure a lot more to understand what you can do fully."

"Trying to scare her off, brother?" Michael jabbed good-naturedly.

"Can you blame me for wanting rid of her?" Lucifer replied. Phoebiel was slack-jawed, stung but not entirely surprised by his words. Who would want her around, pestering them?

Gabriel laughed first, more at her mortified expression than anything else, his brothers pealing laughter joining him shortly. It took her longer than she cared to admit to catch on that they were, in fact, teasing her. So, in order to spare herself the embarrassment of gawping stupidly at the three Archangels before her, she joined them, sharing in what she thought must have been the most exclusive camaraderie in the Universe.

As their chuckles died down, Gabriel smirked at her. "Get some rest. I can't imagine this pair have been easy on you!"

Phoebiel's eyes were met by Lucifer's, who was clearly telling her it was her chance to make a choice. Pushing down the panic that struck her in such moments, she inhaled.

"I would like to make a request, actually..." Lucifer nodded, supporting her. She looked into Gabriel's eyes. "I... This training takes it's toll on me, and I would ask that it become less frequent. I haven't any desire to be idle, though. If... If you would permit me, I feel I would be suited to take on a teaching role. Combat." She clarified.

"I can't see why not," Gabriel acquiesced, "Michael?"

"Of course," The elder brother agreed. "It's your decision, Gabriel, Phoebiel being your apprentice and all."

Gabriel could sense that he wasn't going to hear the end of this in the next few millennium.

My first Supernatural story, and boy is that a long single chapter for me. I really hope people enjoy this story, and that everyone comes off as in-character. It's so interesting (read: difficult) to write pre-humanity Lucifer because I see him as genuinely caring about every angel. I also hope Phoebiel doesn't come off as too Mary- Sue initially!

I really hope you enjoyed this, and if you did, please leave a review, maybe? Especially if you've any con/crit!

Thanks!